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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811313">Steel &amp; Roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivatheAvid/pseuds/DivatheAvid'>DivatheAvid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Self-Indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:47:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivatheAvid/pseuds/DivatheAvid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A very self-indulgent fiction centered around 'Deathlord' Dysma, a somewhat unwilling hero who has been forced to make yet another return in the hopes of saving Azeroth and its denizens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anduin Wrynn/Original Female Character(s), Bolvar Fordragon/Original female Character, Multiple/Original female character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“ My Lord. “</p><p>Dysma’s voice was a welcome reprieve from the howling winds that battered the Frozen Throne - a feather-light melody echoed by undeath; each step left flakes of frost in their wake as the chill from her body sought to freeze her in place with every second she lingered atop solid ground. </p><p>“ You called. “ </p><p>A prison of steel hid her from view, twisted and cruel; jagged spikes created a vicious, vengeful maw to conceal a face few had seen since her fall and skeletal pauldrons sat atop narrow shoulders to create a silhouette far more monstrous than she truly was. </p><p>“ Deathlord. “ </p><p>Lips sundered by warring frost and fire uttered a title she felt little for, the campaign for the Broken Isles had long since ended, what felt like years had passed and, in that time, Dysma had shed whatever mantle was expected of her and nearly vanished into the world to seek thrill where so little moved her. </p><p>“ War is coming once more. “</p><p>There was no true formality in their exchange, no matter how stiffly she stood nor awkwardly she evaded his all-seeing gaze - their relationship transcended undeath; a time where their bodies were warm and their hearts beat in tune with the blood of Azeroth itself. Still, she saw him beyond the Lich King’s helm and the near destruction of his worldly form; beautiful, strong, and so filled with light - his hair like autumn’s first breath and his eyes brimming with determination, with hope for a better tomorrow. For just a moment, she fidgeted, her stance grew lax and her fingers curled inward to find safety within the very center of her palms - she had grown so tired of war, so tired of death and strife. </p><p>But, it was what she had been created for, was it not? </p><p>“ As it should; Azeroth is oft ripe with chaos, what is more if not a mere passing of the hand of fate? “ </p><p>Cryptic, despondent - it gave Bolvar pause; where had that hopeful young lady gone? Perhaps Arthas’ control had done far more damage than even he knew. With his movement, ice shattered into falling starlight, disappearing onto the steps he soon descended and melding with the glittering blanket that covered the entirety of his throne. </p><p>“ Dysma. “ </p><p>His hands had found her first, curling beneath that mask of cruelty that skewed his perception of her and, before she could protest, it was lifted. <br/> Her hair was like unbound fire, tumbling from its near-eternal perch atop her head and coiling its way down her shoulders in wild rivers of winding sanguine. Death had not stolen her beauty, even if she would deny the notion; her skin was like timeless porcelain, faintly stained by frostbite that bled into her lips and settled beneath her eyes to create dark circles that mimicked the scars of a thousand sleepless nights. </p><p>“ You must return, Azeroth needs you once more. “ </p><p>A daunting difference in height was nothing more than an obstacle easily overcome; with a lean of his mighty frame, he closed the distance between them and allowed his nose to brush the tip of hers from beneath his helm. She smelt of steel and roses amidst their final days, withering yet still so ripe with life and her breath rolled against his lips as she loosed a far too steady exhale. Just a moment longer, just an inch closer, and he could capture her as he had done so many years ago - would she taste just as sweet? </p><p>“ Call upon me and I will come, My Lord - but no sooner than when I am truly needed. “ </p><p>“ Dysma - “</p><p>Oh, how easily she evaded him, with a single step she slipped from beneath him and left him desperate for a touch he could only dream of - gone. </p><p>Just as before, she vanished into the frozen wastes of Northrend and he was left only with whispers of the past.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Return.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The forges within Stormwind’s Dwarven District compared little to those held within Archerus, their heat was lacking, barely causing the frost that gathered against her skin to swelter let alone crack and the steel she relentlessly battered barely heated enough for her to shape it as quickly as she wished to. A hood of dark velvet laid low upon her fiery mane and spindles of curled sanguine fell before her face, knocked loose with every sudden jolt of her frame as she continued to force her helm to return to its former shape. </p><p>Once, twice, three times . . <br/>She struck, flipped, then repeated the process before returning her most prized armament to the flames for but a few moments. </p><p>Once, twice . . . </p><p>“ So you’ve returned from your latest excursion; last I heard you were wandering the fields of Stormheim - did you grow bored that quickly? “ </p><p>Anduin’s voice held a comforting familiarity, so filled with joy despite his hardships and still laced with the youth he had not yet fully shedded. </p><p>“ Perhaps I needed a taste of home, the Kul’tiran’s cooking prowess does not quite compare to that within Stormwind. “ </p><p>Dysma released her hammer and allowed her palms to meet the outlying edges of her commandeered workstation, leather-bound fingers curling over the stone lips and resting within whatever residue had not been cleaned away in however many countless months. </p><p>“ Do you even need to eat or was that a bit of sarcasm from you of all people? “ </p><p>“ No, I do not - but it’s . . . enjoyable at times, even if it does little for me. “ </p><p>Anduin was nothing like his father - he lacked the ferocity of Lo’gosh and the simmering, barely contained anger that laid beneath the hardened exterior of a leader; though, he had heart beyond compare and faith that was commendable and, despite his faults, he had shaped himself into a king just as well-fit. </p><p>“ Are you avoiding your hound again, my King? “</p><p>Slowly, cautiously, Dysma straightened to her full height and lifted her helm to place it atop its rightful perch once more - still dented, still misshapen, but serviceable for a moment of conversation. </p><p>“ I avoid him no more than you avoid your fellow Death Knights, my friend. “ </p><p> </p><p>A jab meant with no ill-intent, one well deserved. </p><p> </p><p>“ I have a meeting with him later in the day, I’m simply checking in on a rumor - one proven true. You truly aren’t as sneaky as you’d like to think, the guards alerted me the moment you crept in. “ </p><p>A step in her direction drew her attention, her eyes like starlit beacons roving across him - assessing, searching, how long had it been since they last spoke? Months, a year perhaps - time felt so . . . strange these days, hardship after hardship caused the days to blend and weeks of travel left her uncertain of what gaps filled her time and forced a wedge in her carefully formed bonds. </p><p>Of all her friends, Anduin seemed to mind the least about her departures - he knew she’d return eventually, just as Varian did. </p><p>“ There was no sneaking, I walked in as I always have - “ </p><p>“ Yes, hooded and shaded like someone trying to hide something. Everyone does that, it’s customary! “ </p><p>Perhaps he had become a bit . . . unhappy this time around. </p><p>“ You are displeased. “ </p><p>Although she stiffened like a hound being disciplined, Anduin softened and continued his approach, sidling up next to her and leaning against the stone table. </p><p>“ I hadn’t seen you until N’zoth was freed - no one had, then you appeared with . . .Wrathion. “ </p><p>Oh, how bitterly he spoke the name of a being who was once his dearest friend - would she too share that fate? </p><p>“ And once the beast was defeated, you were gone again - no farewells, not to anyone. I was informed you had been spotted, you were alive at the very least, but evasive as ever. “ </p><p>Frustration edged Anduin’s every word, driving his point to her very core to the point where she very nearly deflated, she had done him a disservice - as both her king  . . .and her friend. An exhale escaped her nose, not quite a sigh nor a huff of disapproval, but a sound of her acknowledgement where words failed her. </p><p>“ I care for you, you know this - as do your other comrades, even Genn had asked after you during the celebration. “ </p><p>Being a ‘hero’ of the Alliance was binding in many senses, doing as she pleased came with an endless list of consequences, the disappointment of her allies being one of the biggest, it seemed. </p><p>“ I’ll be here for the season, my travels have grown tiring. “</p><p>Tiring, or lonely? <br/>She didn’t linger on the thought, wouldn’t allow herself even a moment to sort through her mixed feelings nor the fact that she had softened over the years. </p><p>“ We can catch up, if your schedule allows - “</p><p>“ I’ll make the time, you know this; stay close to the palace, if you would. “ </p><p>Silence blossomed, comfortable and eddied only by the forge that hummed at their backs; her head met his shoulder, steel against steel, and lingered for a few short breaths - just long enough for her to extend a silent apology. </p><p>She would mend the bond, she had to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was comfort to be found within Stormwind Keep, familiarity was etched into every crevice and memories bled from its walls like fresh paint upon a canvas; Dysma drank it in greedily, hungrily, allowed the past to steal her from the world the further she delved. Dancing within the throne room, a bottle of wine within her hand as she taught Varian to waltz, her eyes glazed with inebriation and her lips painted with lipstick that faded with every indulgent sip of a blend that was surely worth more than every thread of her dress.</p><p>She had been beautiful then, full of life and light; no scars upon her soul, her heart a proud drum that pounded along with the record she had chosen because Varian did not quite know the full difference between the three Waltzes. Her footwork was light and natural, graceful even as she took the place of a man and led her dear friend through the steps, begging him to memorize them and stop stepping on her toes because he was absolutely ruining her favorite shoes.</p><p>The throne looked no different from then, felt no different as she removed her glove and allowed her fingers the chance to run the length of the closest armrest; Varian had wept there, countless times, for Tiffin as she laid within Stormwind’s Cemetery, for his son who would grow without a mother, and for the Alliance that seemed to need more from him than he could give. </p><p>“ Dysma - good morning. “ </p><p>Anduin’s voice drew her from her thoughts, tore her from the memories she held onto so tightly and forced her to meet his gaze, a veil of tightly spun gossamer the only thing that kept her face from prying eyes, though the otherworldly glow of her gaze seeped from it like starlight through the blanket of freshly fallen night. </p><p>“ It is so empty here, so quiet. “ </p><p>Stoicism had become her defense, a mask that hid her pain well and forged her into a warrior rather than a maiden who had met an untimely end as well as rebirth. She moved, finally, tore her hand from its perch and began to pull her glove back on mid-approach, her footsteps an ominous echo to break the silence of pre-dawn. </p><p>“ Yes,  well, the sun hasn’t quite risen - did you sleep well? “</p><p>Anduin winced the moment that question escaped his lips, he wasn’t even sure if she needed to sleep anymore - he knew so little of Death Knights and what their rising actually meant. They breathed, that was certain, Dysma’s chest rose and fell steady albeit slowly, though he had never drawn close enough to feel if her heart beat or if her skin was as cold as it looked to be - or what bits he had seen, rather. </p><p>And it seemed that curiosity wouldn’t yet be fully sated, for she only gave a curt nod that didn’t truly indicate anything more than that she was acknowledging his question rather than answering it - a habit of hers that was more strange than grating, but he would press on as always. <br/>“ You look as though you’ve not slept at all, a late night I presume? “</p><p>Always keenly aware of everything, everyone, those eyes were more than just eerily distracting, she assessed things well, as if being undead had enhanced her perception as well as her endurance and strength. He looked haggard at best, the bags beneath his eyes a tell tale sign of how busy he had been and how little he had been caring for himself - a King did not need rest, he needed to provide for others. </p><p>Anduin’s shoulders slumped and that prideful front slipped. </p><p>“ Even Lions need rest, come. “ </p><p>Her fingers were thin yet strong in their grip as she took his elbow, her new place at his side like a crutch for him to lean on should his body give out. </p><p>“ Yes, but - “ </p><p>“ No, a nap will do you well - I told you we will have time, I am not leaving for a few months at the very least. “ </p><p>She had done the same for Varian, when his duties had consumed him after his return and his advisors failed to take notice of just how poorly he was doing - like father, like son. His quarters weren’t far, perhaps he had relocated closer to the throne room when he had become King, she hadn’t noticed - nor had she actually been in his chambers. While their friendship spanned many years, their interactions had been kept beyond the palace more times than not, battle called to them both and often pulled them apart when night fell or morning came. Simple decor, clean and well kept, Anduin’s bed was largely untouched save for whichever maid chose to switch out the linens or adjust how it had been laid out - how many nights had he spent at that command table, pouring over documents and battle plans even when it seemed a moment of peace had come? </p><p>Quietly, Dysma pulled back the covers and top sheet and shifted the pillows to create a cozy nook for him to rest and her friend wasted little time in kicking his boots off, giving in to the temptation that sleep offered. </p><p>“ You are more like your father than you will ever know, my King. “ </p><p>The mattress dipped where she perched, one leg crossed lazily over the other and her hands folded within her lap - a lady at heart, years of early etiquette lessons had not yet escaped her. </p><p>“ I’ve gotten that a lot lately - though, it’s usually Genn’s attempt at reassurance. “ </p><p>Darkened lips curled beneath their coverings, the old wolf had never been personable - compliments were not his strong suit, at least as far as she could remember. <br/>“ Sleep, Anduin - I’ll return tonight. “ </p><p>Though she was quick, he was quicker, his hand a vice upon her wrist, loosening the moment she cast her attention from the door to his half-buried visage. </p><p>“ Stay - ? “</p><p>A question, not a command nor offer - it gave her pause and drew the words from her tongue, for once she had no means of escape or pressing matters she could excuse herself to. Slowly, cautiously, she pulled herself up the length of the bed and settled at the furthest edge, her head resting within her palm and her eyes searching the face of a friend - a child, in her eyes, one that she had watched grow and blossom like a rose within a briar patch. This . . .this was a new experience, one she could not relate to, one that did not spark memories beyond hazy nights after battle where she slept where she landed even if it meant forming a pile of overworked soldiers seeking rest under the stars. </p><p>But . . .it was not intimate - could this be considered different? </p><p>Her brows lowered, knitting together and creating harshed creases betwixt them as she wracked her brain for an explanation - a reason, or something she could use to dismiss how awkward a scenario she had fallen into. </p><p>“ Have you always hidden your face, Dysma? “</p><p>A nod that caused the veil to press firmly against her features as it tucked itself beneath her head, a silhouette was a better view than nothingness - he could see the vague shape of her lips and the point of both her nose and her rounded chin, the latter only partially so as fabric still hung loosely on the other side. </p><p>“ I saw myself when I was risen - different, disfigured and strange, I was . . .not myself, not anymore. I wept, then hid - it was easier to adjust, even when I was under Arthas’ command. “ </p><p> </p><p>A gentle hum of understanding left his lips, sleep had gripped him, curling gnarled fingers into the back of his mind, seeking to drag him into the murky depths of dreamless, fitful rest. Twin blues vanished beneath pale lids and dark lashes met the swell of cheeks that had grown rosy with growing exhaustion, Dysma watched him - silent, contemplative.</p><p>A boy no longer, he had grown into a beautiful mixture of his parents with his father’s sharp jaw and angled features, with all the soft fairness Tiffin held. A gentle twitch of his shoulder signaled that he had drifted beyond the veil of dreams. Tentatively, a hand extended and cotton-clad fingers brushed along the pale expanse of Anduin’s forehead, chasing away strands of gold before they danced their way over his cheekbone, then cheek, until she found them pressed to the very corner of his partially agape lips. <br/>“ You’ve changed. “</p>
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